He's Not All Jack
by WritePassion
Summary: In Brogard's zeal to capture and execute the Daring Dragoon per Governor Croque's orders, he takes matters into his own hands. Now the Governor believes that the local hero is dead, and Jack is recovering from an illness that has stolen his memory. Will everything be sorted out again, and will Jack finally remember that he's not just the Dragoon?
1. Chapter 1

_The day had begun like so many others, but by nightfall, Emilia would be wishing for an ordinary day._

_Oops, I did it again! I came up with another Jack of All Trades story!_

_Jack Of All Trades - Like Burn Notice and Brisco, I don't own it, I just like to play with it!_

**He's Not All Jack**

By WritePassion

Emilia Rothschild stopped at the gangplank and watched the muscular men loading the precious cargo onto one of her ships, most of it crafts and useful items the people made by hand that were sold in Britain, her home country, and the United States. Her brokering their wares afforded the people a nice income to assist them in paying the unreasonable taxes that the French always seemed to foist upon them. It made her feel proud to be able to help, and she wished she could do more. Her clandestine work with Jack Stiles, American spy, wasn't enough. They were making slow progress to undermine the authority of the French government in Pulau Pulau, yet Emilia wished she and Jack could speed up the process.

Her pulse raced as she thought about the latest rumors floating around the island. There was talk of a revolution to overthrow Governor Croque and usurp his power. Emilia wasn't sure how the people would fight against the Governor's troops, but if they could get the French unawares and catch them by surprise, the revolution might have a chance. Jack had been absent quite a bit lately, and when she asked him what he was doing, he merely winked and asked in a tone that made her think impure thoughts, "Ho ho, wouldn't you like to know?"

She suspected that he was training the natives for an attack, but she could never prove it. At the moment, Jack was helping load the ship. She watched him pass with a loaded crate, straining against the weight of it. He'd stripped off his fancy coat, vest, and the ruffled cravat, and he worked with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. Sweat glistened on the chest hairs and bare skin that peeked out from between the folds of fabric. Emilia fanned herself and held the parasol higher, hoping to block the hot sun.

Jack caught her watching and her cheeks flared, which only enticed him to give her a wicked smile and a wink. Her fan moved faster the moment he turned away. The ship was almost loaded, and for that she was grateful. Emilia wasn't sure how much more of a half-naked Jack she could endure. He took one more load onto the ship and soon returned with a large, long box hefted on his shoulder. He was supposed to be loading, not unloading the vessel. The box bore the markings of the United States, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It must have been something shipped to him from home.

"We are ready to depart, Madame Rothschild," the captain said to her.

"Excellent. Have a safe journey, Captain." She gave him one of her sweet smiles and waved to the men who stood on the deck waiting to pull the plank. Out of courtesy, she waited until the ship left the dock before heading back to her home. There was work to be done. She needed to know if Jack received any new orders, and she was dying to know what was in the box.

The laboratory was empty when she entered. She expected Jack to be there with his shipment. "Jack? Where are you?" She covered every inch, but he wasn't there. Perhaps the Daring Dragoon had been called into service. She smiled and opened the closet, a converted shipping container, and counted the capes, masks and hats inside. Everything was in order. A hum came out of her. "Where is he, and what is he up to?"

Jack didn't make an appearance until lunch was served. He wore a different shirt, the other having been smudged with dirt during his cargo hauling, and he smelled of soap and a mixture of flowers and spice. His hair was damp, and Emilia smiled at him, appreciative of his consideration to bathe before appearing for the noonday meal.

"I've noticed that you're using the shampoo that I devised," she said with an amused smile as he sat across from her.

Jack shrugged and reached for the butter dish. "It's kind of girly, but it does a great job. Why? Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. It's… it's very becoming on you, Jack."

A smile lit up his face. "Thanks, Em. Maybe the next time you have a new invention, I might not mind being your guinea pig." He took a bite of his bread.

"Not at the moment, but I will certainly let you know." She hesitated, pushing a leaf of lettuce around her salad plate. Her curiosity threatened to make her explode. Unable to find a more tactful way of asking, she decided to do the American thing and just let it out. "Jack, what did you get from home?"

"From home?" He glanced at her sideways. "What do you mean?" A light went on in his eyes, and he barked out a short laugh. "Oh, the crate! You thought that was for me?"

"Well, it did have U.S. stamped on it."

Jack ran his tongue over his front teeth before answering. "It wasn't for me. It was a gift… for the people of Pulau Pulau."

"Really? How wonderful!" She clasped her hands beneath her chin and leaned forward. "What is it?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," he evaded, his expression changing, appearing as if he were sitting over a fire that got hotter by the moment.

"Jack, you're hiding something from me. I thought we were partners, especially if it has something to do with…" She glanced around to be sure that they were alone. "With overthrowing the French oppression on this island!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes a mission is so secret that not everyone knows about it, not even a partner."

Emilia stood, planted her fists on her hips, and strode toward Jack's chair. With each step, he fought to keep his composure. "Jack, you and I have worked very hard to build a rapport, no, more than that, a friendship. Dare I say that I even feel a bit of affection for you, simply as a friend, of course." She stopped at his side and gave him a pair of entreating eyes as her hand skimmed over his shoulder. "Your sudden closed-mouth policy is, to put it bluntly, disrespectful of me and our relationship. Please, Jack, don't do this to us."

As much as he tried to curb his desire for Emilia, there were times when Jack wished he could show her how he really felt. Her feather light touch sent gooseflesh racing up and down his body despite the heat and humidity of the Pulau Pulau summer. She knew what she was doing, and she did it well. He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump of bread in his throat, twisted his head in a vain effort to loosen the cravat that seemed as if it would strangle him, and finally spoke.

"Em, I can't…."

"Can't what," she asked as her fingers brushed his collar and her hand made a slow journey back to his shoulder.

He growled low and threw his napkin on the table. "I can't do this, so you can skip the seduction, sister."

"Seduction," she huffed and retracted her hand as if it had been burned.

"Yeah." He stood and looked into her eyes, anger in his. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about it!" Without another word, he stalked out of the dining room, leaving Emilia alone.

"Well!"

Jack retreated to the lab, but his growling stomach wouldn't leave him alone. He'd barely gotten two bites in him before Emilia attempted to wrest away his secret, so after prowling around for a bit he decided to go to the pub. He could grab a sandwich and some ale and forget about how Emilia badgered him, at least for awhile. She would win eventually, he knew that. Hopefully he could hold her off long enough so that everything would be in place for the mission.

The barmaid purred his name as he entered the busy pub. "Jack, you've been a bad boy not showing your face around here. I've missed you." She raked her fingers over his jaw as he smiled at her.

"Maggie, I've missed you too. But you know how it goes. Sometimes I get busy," Jack replied, following her to the bar.

"What, doing the bidding of Miss Prissy again?" She gave Jack a disgusted smirk.

"She's not so bad, once you get to know her," he countered, defending Emilia. "Get me my usual with a roast beef sandwich, please."

"I please," Maggie said with a seductive smile and a soft giggle. She disappeared and returned just as Jack settled into a chair and put his feet up on the table. "Here's your ale, honey. The sandwich is on the way."

"Thanks, darlin'." Jack winked at her, causing her to blush as she turned out of his grasp to wait on another customer.

He ate and drank, comfortable in the company of the people around him. The pub wasn't very busy, as many of the ships that disgorged cargo and sailors in the morning were well on their way out of port on to their next destinations. Later in the day, the next wave would arrive and the staff would be busy entertaining them until well into dawn the next day. Jack kept an eye on the entrance. Emilia might follow him there, but then again, maybe not. He still hadn't figured her out well enough to anticipate her every move. Most times it was fun to do, but not when she got too curious for her own good.

After downing a couple of pints with his lunch, Jack decided his partner and employer had enough time to stew, so he made his way back to Emilia's home. He was almost there when he heard a woman cry out.

"Help! Get your hands off me, you brute!"

Jack turned his head and saw some of Captain Brogard's men harassing a woman on the path to the village outskirts. They wouldn't take no for an answer and hauled her into a waiting cart, and the driver slapped the reins and took off with her screaming. Jack ducked into the lush vegetation, made his quick change, and appeared in a dramatic fashion as the Daring Dragoon. He jumped onto a horse tied up in front of the pub and took off after the cart. He followed it to a remote part of the island.

"What have we here? Doesn't Croquie keep you boys busy enough without manhandling the locals?"

"We were merely shopping," one of the soldiers replied with a sneer. "This woman, she misunderstood."

"I don't see anywhere to shop here. What are you really up to?" The Dragoon dismounted. The woman's hands clung to the cart side, terror in her eyes. "I'm going to ask you nicely to let her go. If you have business to conduct, I suggest you keep it in the marketplace."

"We have business, but not with her."

The sword fight was hardly an even match. The Dragoon took out the three with deft moves, which left him alone with the instigator. He finished him off with a shove into the pile of soldiers and moved to the back of the cart to help the woman down, but the Dragoon didn't count on Brogard coming upon the scene. The Captain was in a bad mood, and seeing the Dragoon best his men again made him livid. He drew his sword and ran at him from behind with a growing growl that morphed into a shriek.

Brogard gave himself away, and the Dragoon laughed as he turned and held up his sword, ready for the attack. He planted his feet and parried against Brogard's downward thrust. The momentum, however, took him back a step. The Frenchman's fury surprised the Dragoon, and he backed up another step and he was on the defensive. Swords clanged as metal clashed with metal.

The Dragoon turned the tide and was on the offensive, thrusting with such speed that his blade flashed in the sunlight, sparkling like a diamond. Brogard's face showed his fury and desperation, and his sword flew against the Dragoon's.

Somehow he got his sword under the Dragoon's and used the strength of his anger to send it upward, twisting out of the masked man's grasp. It landed in the dirt path not far away. Grimacing in victory, Brogard thrust his sword tip into the Dragoon's neck, just under his jaw, at the pulse beating at his throat.

"Oh, what is this? I have you now," Brogard crowed. "My governeur has requested that I capture you for an execution, but I say, why waste valuable taxpayer money?" The point drew a small trickle of blood as Brogard's smile grew. "Good bye, mon deu Dragoon."

The Dragoon closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the end. His heels clung to the precipice of a cliff. He didn't know how high it was, but no doubt it would be a fatal landing falling backwards. If he didn't take the tumble, Brogard's sharp blade would slash his throat from side to side. He felt the warm trickle down his neck just before his balance went off kilter. He'd been so adept at getting out of scrapes before, but when he felt himself hanging in mid-air for a second before gravity took hold and pulled him to the earth below, he realized that this time there was no escape.

He twisted around to see where he was going and his mid-section collided with a tree branch, a very wide branch of a long-dead tree. It was hollow and broke his fall only for a moment. He shrieked as his body hit another, and another, his arms flailing for a hold on a sturdy branch. None of them could support his weight. They only slowed down his descent. He caromed into the trunk with a force that took his breath away and caused him to see stars. Stunned, the Dragoon tumbled the rest of the way unable to fight his fate.

His head cracked against a rock at the bottom of the cliff, missing the sandy beach by a couple of feet. He lost consciousness, his limbs flung out, and he lay like a starfish on the sand.

"It is finished," Brogard muttered. "The Dragoon is no more."

"Sir, perhaps we should go to the beach and make certain."

"You idiot! Do you not see that he is bleeding?" Brogard pointed out the red stain on the rock where the Dragoon's head struck it. "I assure you, he is dead. No one could survive a fall like that and live."

Brogard mounted the horse that the Dragoon had taken from the marketplace and led his men back to town, the defenseless woman sitting in the cart weeping, inconsolable at the Dragoon's death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Emilia checked the lab again and found that Jack was still missing. She went to the marketplace and inquired of him, but no one had seen him since the early afternoon. She even questioned the barmaids at the pub, and they all said the same thing. She returned to the marketplace to see if maybe she missed him, and she came upon the villagers crying, some collapsing in grief.

As she pressed her way into the center of the gathering, she asked, "What is it? What is wrong?"

"Madame Rothschild, it is a splendid day."

She turned and found Governor Croque standing off to the side with Brogard and a small detail, both smiling and in unusually good spirits.

"What do you mean?" She approached them, puzzled. "How could it be a splendid day when all these people are upset and crying?"

Unable to contain himself, Brogard answered, "The Daring Dragoon is dead." At her gasp, his grin widened. "I killed him myself."

"Where? Where is he?"

The Governor and Brogard looked surprised at her alarm. Croque exclaimed, "Does it matter? He is gone for good!"

"It's not good at all," she muttered, then ground out, "Where is he? These people love him, and if you have indeed killed him, don't you think that you should at least allow them to give him a proper… burial?" She could barely speak the word, much less think it. Jack is dead! How could he be? She hoped any second he would appear, chuckling, dressed as the Dragoon and offering up some lame pun to humiliate Croque and Brogard. But he didn't come. She couldn't, wouldn't, believe it until she'd seen his body with her own eyes. "Where is he, Brogard?"

"At the bottom of the cliff on the north side of the island," Brogard answered. "By now, the vultures have probably picked off that ridiculous mask and exposed the real man underneath."

"Oh, Brogard! We must go at once to see!" Croque exclaimed, nearly breathless with glee. "I have always wanted to know who the Dragoon really was."

"Please, Governor, have some decorum," Emilia begged. "Let the people go and get him, and I will assist with making the funeral arrangements. If you have a shred of decency in you, you will leave the Dragoon to rest in peace. Whoever he was, no doubt we will know in time when a villager is discovered missing."

"Ah yes, you are wise, Madame," Croque said with respect in his tone. "Alright, I will allow this. Go fetch him, and we will pay our respects."

Respects? Croque and Brogard had as much regard for the Dragoon, and Jack, as a cat had for a mouse. Emilia went to her stables and began to hitch up the horses to the wagon that would be large enough to carry Jack's body. She stifled a sob. A few villagers appeared at the barn doors, their faces etched with deep sorrow.

"Madame, please allow us to help you. The Dragoon is our hero, and we would like to give him the honor he deserves."

"Al-alright. Thank you."

After the horses were hitched to the cart, women came bearing beautiful hand-embroidered linens. Children followed, their arms encircled around large bouquets of flowers. Emilia lost control at the sight of them and broke down, her knees weakening, and a villager held her up, his eyes locked on her with surprise.

When she could speak again, Emilia whispered, "Thank you. The Dragoon… was a dear friend."

"He was a dear friend and champion for all of us, Madame Rothschild. We will miss him so, and the tyranny of the French will once again rule unbridled over the entire island."

"Yes, it will, unfortunately." She sniffled and accepted his hand helping her into the wagon seat. He followed to sit beside her, taking the reins and driving the wagon to the site where Brogard said the Dragoon lay. Practically the entire village followed, the marketplace being closed for the rest of the day in deference to the death of their hero.

The wagon wheels sunk into the sand but the villager kept the horses moving. From a couple hundred yards away, Emilia could see something red, black, and white stretched out on the white sand. She sensed a new wave of sadness rising up in her, but she bit it back by clamping down on her knuckle. As often as he infuriated her, Emilia would never have wished death on Jack. It can't be true! He lay too still. She wished he would move or show some sign that he was alive. Some of the villagers ran to the body, and they touched him before falling to their knees wailing in their native tongue.

The wagon stopped, and Emilia jumped down without assistance. She trudged through the sand, skirts held high, and picked her way between prostrate villagers to reach Jack's side. She gasped at how much blood there was. The Dragoon's tri-cornered black hat was missing, his dark brown hair glinting in the sun. His face was pale, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. His limbs were flung out wide, the arms wrapped in the edges of his red velvety cape.

Emilia fell to her knees and reached out to touch his face. To her surprise, he felt warm. Perhaps the sun kept him so. Her lacy glove raked along the hint of a five o'clock shadow, catching on the roughness. His cheek twitched. Everyone behind her gasped and jumped back.

"Oh my word," she muttered. "Please be alive. Please." She touched him again, her fingertips pressing into his cheek, sliding down to his neck. She felt a pulse there and cried out in joy. "He's not dead! The Dragoon is alive!"

A great shout went up through the people and they pressed forward. Emilia held up a hand.

"Wait! Don't crowd him, please. We must treat him carefully. Bring some of those linens, ladies. We must stop this bleeding, and bind up his wounds. Then I will take him to my home, consult a doctor, and nurse him back to health!"

Once his head wound was bound up, the stronger men came forward and lifted the Dragoon, carrying him with gentle hands and careful steps toward the wagon. The other linens had been laid out for a shroud, but now they were wrapped around and over him to trap his body warmth. The driver made haste to take him to Emilia's house, and while the men laid the Dragoon in a spare bedroom, a boy ran through the streets searching for the white doctor who lived on the island.

He was an American who, like Emilia and Jack, had no use for the French. Upon hearing the news about the Dragoon, he mourned his loss. The boy's request that he hurry to Madame Rothschild's home to attend to the hero sent his spirits soaring. He did not know what he would find, so he loaded himself down with all of his supplies and hurried to the mansion.

A crowd had gathered around the entrance, and it took some work for him to get through. But people parted like the Red Sea when the boy announced, "It is the doctor. Make way for the doctor!" A villager let him into the house, and he slipped past the others who marched out in single file.

"Where is he? Where is the Dragoon?"

"Come with me," Emilia said as she whirled and hurried to the guest room. "I do hope there is something you can do for him, Doctor Thomas."

"I will certainly do my best, Mrs. Rothschild." He entered the room and gazed on the unconscious form.

"He still hasn't awakened," Emilia reported. "As far as we know he hasn't regained consciousness since he fell off the cliff."

Dr. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and gave the man a good once-over. "I'm afraid he will have to be disrobed and… de-masked."

Emilia gasped. She hadn't considered that. "Doctor, if we remove his mask, you must swear that you will never, I repeat never, reveal his true identity."

Dr. Thomas stared at her. "You know who he really is?"

"Yes. And as far as I am aware, I'm the only one. You will also know, but Doctor, you must never tell anyone."

He nodded. "I assure you, I wouldn't want to put this man in further jeopardy if he survives." He paused and cleared his throat. "You do realize that this means that you and I are the only ones who can remove his clothing."

Emilia swallowed. "I'm prepared for that, sir."

"Alright then."

As each piece of Jack's clothing was stripped from his body starting with his boots working up to his torso, Emilia recalled the time that Napoleon drugged the wine that she and Jack had drunk, leaving them vulnerable to respond to his suggestions. She awoke beside Jack in bed the next morning, naked, and until the two learned that nothing had happened, she was horrified that perhaps he'd taken her, or she him, and neither one remembered it.

She recalled it like it was yesterday, Jack standing on one side of the bed without a stitch of clothing, only a decorative pillow covering his private parts. She wrapped a sheet around herself. It was sort of comical later, but she would never admit it. All the things she was feeling as she undressed his body came back and made a heat rise in her. How disgusting, to be thinking that way over a man who was incapacitated, and under her employ to boot!

She focused on business, assisting the doctor in removing Jack's trousers and socks, revealing his long muscular legs. She couldn't help but stare, but not because of their attractiveness. "Look at all the bruising."

The doctor picked up the hem of Jack's undergarment and pushed one leg of it up to his hip, keeping his patient's nether regions covered. He shook his head. "He looks as if he's been beaten."

"He fell off a cliff, Doctor. The fact that he's alive is miraculous."

"Indeed." Glancing at Emilia, he said, "Let's continue. No doubt he has bruises all over."

It was more of a challenge to remove his shirt and undershirt, which required that he be rolled to his side. The movement caused him to moan, but he did not regain consciousness. His bare chest bore the marks of the collisions during his fall, with rash-like scrapes and bruises over his chest and stomach. Emilia almost cried at the sight.

"And now, the mask," the doctor said. "We must remove it in order for me to adequately treat him."

"I know. Go ahead." She was prepared because she knew who he was, but the doctor…

The doctor untied the mask behind the Dragoon's head and pulled it away. His breath came out in a short gasp. "Mr. Stiles? Mr. Stiles is the Dragoon?"

"Shhh! No one must know," Emilia whispered.

"His secret is safe with me." Dr. Thomas smiled as he turned to his supplies. "It stirs my pride in America to see one of my own people fighting for freedom on Pulau Pulau." He rooted around in his bag and came back to the bed with his hands full. "Now, I must work. I would suggest that you find someone who can be trusted to not come in here, and can guard the door. Only you and I should be allowed in this room, unless there is a life and death emergency."

"Agreed." Emilia rose from the side of the bed and left the room. She found the villager who drove the wagon to the beach. He agreed to stand guard without entering the room, and the look of loyalty in his eyes led her to believe that he could be trusted to keep his word. "Not even the Governor himself should be allowed in here."

"Of course, Madame. I will guard the Dragoon with my life."

* * *

The open area was filled to capacity with villagers and expatriated Americans and British. The French presence was visibly absent. On the beach where the Dragoon landed, some of the women set up a plank and loaded it with flowers. In the center, the Dragoon's hat and sword lay, the metal glinting in the sun. The peoples' priest intoned a sad dirge that only the natives understood the words to, but it's melody communicated the grief of the people to everyone attending. On the precipice, Governor Croque stood with Captain Brogard watching the spectacle.

"Oh, such a sad display," Croque cried, his crocodile tears turning into a grin. He even dared to laugh. "Ah, I feel as if a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders, Brogard."

"Congratulations, Governor. Now, perhaps you can concentrate on a complete rule of this island. Your brother will be so proud of you!"

"Indeed. Let us go and prepare. With the people so distraught over the loss of the Dragoon, they will be impotent to fight against me and my troops."

Croque waved his hand, and the carriage pulled away from the cliff edge. Brogard took one last look, hurled a wad of spit at the display, and his mind moved on to conquering the people of Pulau Pulau.

* * *

Over the course of several days, Emilia barely left Jack's side. She tried everything she could think of to try to awaken him. She spent hours talking, sometimes shouting at him, to wake up. Now and then she spoke soft words and he seemed to respond best to those, if the gentle squeeze of his fingers was any indication. She sang to him late in the night, and his respirations turned soft and even. But he wouldn't open his eyes.

Emilia could barely keep hers open anymore. She'd been awake for almost forty eight hours straight, and she fought the droopiness of her lids. Dr. Thomas thought that maybe Jack would awaken soon. She needed to believe that, because in the lonely hours while she waited, she decided that she couldn't very well do without him, despite his knack for annoying her. She would give anything for him to do so now.

She drifted into a world where Jack was animated and smiling, smoking those infernal cigars in her parlor and cracking up, that staccato laugh of his echoing off the walls. She touched him, running her hand up his chest to caress his cheek as she asked him to stop, but no words came out of her mouth. Instead, Jack looked into her deep blue eyes with his rich dark brown ones and his lips moved closer to hers. It was crazy. They were intoxicated by the love potion she'd engineered for Croque and his wife. She couldn't admit it, but she hoped that Jack would lose control because she was too scared to do it herself. She wanted him. Sometimes she fantasized about him coming to her in the Dragoon costume, but decorum always won.

She forced such thoughts from her mind. Jack was ill. She shouldn't be thinking of such things. He moaned, and her senses were on high alert. Her skin prickled with the touch of fingertips on her arm. Emilia used all her mental strength to open her eyes and look at him. She gaped. Somehow, in her sleep-addled brain, she lay beside him on the bed, her body close to his, and her arm resting across his bare chest. How often she'd wanted to do it, and now she had. For shame!

Emilia pulled away and sat up, mortified to see that Jack's eyes were open and watching her. He wore no leer or sign that she'd somehow aroused him. She waited a few beats for the sexual innuendo that was sure to roll off his lips, but it didn't come.

"Madame, do I know you?"

She gasped. "Jack! You don't remember me?"

His brows knit together. "Jack? My name isn't Jack. I'm… Well, I'm known as the Daring Dragoon. I've been that for so long, I couldn't even tell you my real name."

Looking at him with great pity in her eyes, she said, "Your name is really Jack. Jack Stiles."

"Really? That's not a very heroic sounding name. I'm disappointed." He scoffed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. You're sure you don't remember me?"

He gave her face a good look, but no sense of recognition appeared on his. "I'm sorry. I don't know who you are."

"I was afraid of that. Hold on one moment." Emilia stood and rushed to the door. She opened it a crack and spoke to the man outside. "Please fetch Dr. Thomas immediately. The Dragoon is waking up."

"He's… he lives?"

"Yes." She smiled.

"Wonderful news! I will bring the doctor at once!" He ran down the hall, his footfalls thudding on the floor.

"What happened to me," Jack asked. He sat up in bed, holding his head. "Feels like I got hit with an axe."

"No axe. You fell off a cliff about fifty feet and dashed your head on a rock."

He scowled. "And I lived?"

"Yes." She sat beside him and pushed on him, urging him to settle into the pillows. "Miraculously, I dare say."

"I was beginning to think maybe I was in heaven," Jack said as he gave Emilia an appreciative smile. He reached out his hand and captured one of her blonde curls, rubbing the strands in his fingers. "When I woke up, I thought that maybe you were an angel. But an angel on earth is just as good. Maybe even better."

"Oh, Jack. You're being silly."

"What's your name?"

"Emilia Rothschild."

"Miss or Mrs.?" He held such hope in his eyes that she was single.

"I'm widowed."

"I'm sorry," he said with such thoughtfulness, it took her breath away. "I guess some poor man's loss is my gain." His smile lit up his face. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

A knock interrupted any response she might have given him. "That must be the doctor. One moment."

Dr. Thomas examined Jack and determined that his head injury was healing. It would be several more days before he was able to be up and around, and each day he made progress walking the hall. The guard had been dismissed, because the threat to the Dragoon's life was gone since Governor Croque and his men believed that the Dragoon had died from his injuries. Until he went into action again, the French would be none the wiser.

With the Dragoon hidden away in her home, this meant that Jack had not made an appearance in the village. Fortunately, Croque seemed too preoccupied to notice that Emilia and Jack had left him alone. Or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, at some point he would notice. Emilia hoped it was later, rather than sooner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jack walked with slow, careful steps, his fingertips grazing the wall. He wore a half grimace on his face. Emilia came face to face with him on his way back to the bedroom, bearing a tray with his lunch on it.

She smiled at him. "You look better today, Jack."

"My legs still are sore," he responded and stopped at the door. "I wish you'd stop calling me Jack. That's not who I am."

Emilia frowned. She'd hoped he would regain his memory, but it still had not happened. "But it's who you are. The Dragoon is simply a persona you put on to help the people."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Go back to bed. I brought you your lunch, and maybe after that and a nap things will seem clearer."

Jack sighed. "I doubt it. I know who I am, Miz Rothschild."

Emilia's frown deepened. "You used to call me Emilia, or Em for short."

"I'm sorry… Emilia." He tried a smile. "Thank you for reminding me." He entered the bedroom and slipped under the covers, and he sat against the headboard, fluffing up the pillows behind his back before settling in completely. "I feel so… useless… just sitting around here."

"You're lucky to be alive," Emilia admonished and set the tray on his lap. "Eat something, Jack. Maybe this afternoon, if you're feeling up to it, we can take a walk around the marketplace."

After eating and a nap, he did feel better. He was able to dress himself, and the entire time he wondered whose clothes he was wearing, because they sure didn't look like his no matter how well they fit. Where were his cape, his hat, and his rapier? He felt naked without them. At least he had this gorgeous woman Emilia to take care of him and walk beside him with her supportive hand on his arm. A tingle of fear dribbled from his faulty brain to his toes when he stepped outside and saw the French troops. The Dragoon closed his eyes, and he experienced a flash of something familiar.

"Are you alright, Jack?"

He opened his eyes and saw Emilia looking at him with concern. He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. I just remembered something. Maybe I'll get my complete memory back soon."

"That would be wonderful!" She squeezed his arm.

"It would be, because I'd like to remember how you and I really relate to each other. I feel like there's something… special… between us." His smile was tender as he continued to gaze at her.

Emilia bristled at the blatant desire in his expression. "We can talk about that later, Jack. Right now, you have to promise me something."

"What?"

Her voice soft, she said, "No matter how anyone addresses you, you must remember that you are Jack Stiles, not the Dragoon. Do you understand?"

He scowled and stopped walking, forcing her to stand close beside him. "No. Why should I lie?"

An annoyed breath escaped her and she rasped in reply. "Because, it's who you are! The Dragoon is your secret alter-ego!" Her impatience evaporated like the fog in the morning, and in its place, she pitied him. "I'm sorry this is so confusing for you. Just trust me."

He didn't know much, but when he looked into those blue eyes he was certain that Emilia was someone he could trust above all others. He nodded. "Let's go."

As they walked about the marketplace, the villagers asked Emilia about the Dragoon. She replied that he was slowly recovering, but gave no other details. The people were satisfied, and he got first-hand knowledge that the residents cared. Maybe it would help him recover faster. She kept an eye on him, searching for any sign of weariness. His resilience amazed her.

"Ah, Madame Emilia! We have not seen you for awhile," Governor Croque greeted her from the gate leading to the governor's mansion as they walked back to Emilia's home. "And Jacques! How are you feeling? I heard that you have been quite ill, and that Madame Rothschild was nursing you back to health." He gave them both a leer.

"Uh, thanks," Jack replied, searching for the man's name but unable to recall it.

"Governor Croque, I'm afraid that Jack is still not quite over his illness," Emilia spoke for him. "We're just out trying to get a little fresh air."

"Yeah, Governor. It's been slow going, but I'll get better."

"Excellent, Jacques. If there is anything you need, please, let me know." Croque smiled, clueless, yet appearing as if he thought something was not right.

"Thanks, but Emilia has been really great," Jack said as his eyes met hers.

"Well then, good day to you both. We are off to survey the island." Croque went on his way with Brogard trailing after him.

The Captain eyed Jack, suspicious as usual. Jack looked completely innocent, unaware of the history he had with Brogard as himself and the Dragoon. When the two men were out of earshot, Jack asked, "What's got the Frenchies' knickers in a twist?"

"I think they're a bit peeved that they were not invited to attend the Dragoon's memorial service."

"Memorial service? I thought the people knew I was alive!"

"They do, but we're all keeping it a secret." She smiled. "At least for the time being. Croque and Brogard wanted to unmask the Dragoon and find out who he really was. The villagers have no idea that you are the Dragoon, and it should stay that way. Only the good Doctor and I know."

"I suppose that if people knew, it might diminish my effectiveness?"

"Not only that, if the Governor knew the truth, my word, I don't even want to think what would happen! Most likely you would be executed, Jack, and the thought of that simply… it's terribly upsetting."

A tender smile again graced his face, and he picked up her hand. "I'm flattered, Emilia."

"It's not about you, Jack. I worry what would happen if you were executed and the Dragoon would be gone for good." She steered him toward the garden behind her mansion where they would have privacy to speak. Even so, she kept her words soft. "Until you took up the guise, there was no one to be their champion. The Dragoon was just a legend, but you brought him to life."

"I see. So I really am this Jack Stiles guy, pretending to be a legend and taking on the Frenchies for the residents of Pulau Pulau."

"Yes." She grinned, happy that he finally understood, but sad that he still looked so downtrodden. The smile wiped off her face. "Jack, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I guess I feel like I'm not Jack Stiles, that I _am_ the Dragoon." He shook his head and lowered himself to a marble bench with a sigh. "How will I ever reconcile this in my head?"

She sat beside him, her hand clasping the one he rested on his thigh, and the other touching his back in a gesture of comfort. "You simply must. You are Jack Stiles. Your government needs you too, you know. So you must get over this notion that you are the Dragoon!"

"Would it make a difference with us if I was just Jack?"

"Well, uh, I…" She stammered. "I don't know." She broke the contact and tried to take her hand back, but he wouldn't let go. His fingers wove with hers, and his eyes dove into Emilia's. The way he looked at her brought back emotions she'd tried to hide because she didn't need a love potion to entice them to race to the forefront. All she needed was the way he looked at her in that moment.

"Em," Jack said as he stroked her jaw with his fingers. "I don't know what it is about you. I… I feel like you're a magnet and I can't resist your force."

"Oh, Jack," she breathed. "I…."

He dropped her hand on his thigh, reached for her face with both hands, and kissed her deeply. Her breath was like a soft tickle in his mouth, and she lost all her inhibitions and kissed him with as much passion as he gave her.

Emilia got a grip on herself when Jack's hand slipped around her waist and attempted to pull her closer. This was insane! If they were ever to maintain their working relationship, this had to stop immediately! She pressed her palms into his chest and broke all contact. A sharp pain shot through her as she opened her eyes and saw the hurt in Jack's, but in time he would come to realize that it was the logical move.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She reached up to straighten a non-existent out of place strand of hair. "That was rather brazen of me. I shouldn't have done that."

"You didn't. It was my fault," Jack said, disappointment in his tone, and he released her, placing his folded hands in his lap and staring at them. "When my memory returns…. Ah, that's no excuse, Em. I'm sorry!"

Their eyes met, and she smiled with reassurance. "Yes, let's hope your memory returns soon. It will be better for everyone." She rose and smoothed her skirts. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to attend to. You should go upstairs and rest."

"Good idea, Em." Jack rose and walked with her to the entrance, silent and brooding.

"Ohh, mon dieu! Wait until the Governeur hears about this!" Brogard whispered the words as he backed out of the shrubbery that bordered Emilia's garden. After the couple left the Governor, Brogard had a nagging suspicion and sent a security detail with Croque, staying behind to spy on the couple. Now he knew the truth, that Jack was suffering from some sort of amnesia due to his illness and he thought that he was the Daring Dragoon. But why? Perhaps he and the Governor could sort it out and use this to their advantage.

Brogard trotted back to the Governor's mansion to secure a mount. He must find the Governor and tell him at once.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"So, what does Jack do for you," He asked Emilia at breakfast. He was feeling well enough to move around now, but his memory still had not returned after two weeks. He still thought he was the Dragoon.

"Jack," she said with a smile. "You serve as my attache, assisting me with my business. That is your cover as an American spy. In reality, you and I work together on our missions to undermine Croque and the French government on Pulau Pulau."

"I see. How do I, as the Dragoon, fit into this?" He leaned forward with expectation in his posture.

"The Dragoon comes when you, Jack, see someone in trouble. Usually it involves some of Croque's men harassing a villager." She spoke with disgust on her face. "From what the villagers say, the day you almost died, that is exactly what happened. You were fighting for the honor of a poor maiden."

"I see." Jack rubbed his index finger below his lower lip as he sat in thought. "So Jack doesn't really do, um, jack, around here unless there's a mission."

Emilia hesitated, her head bowed, then raised her head and looked into his eyes. "But that doesn't mean your services aren't valuable as Jack Stiles."

"Thanks, Em." He fell silent afterwards and ate very little. To her surprise, he picked up their plates and took them to the kitchen himself. He disappeared after that, and she searched the mansion high and low for him, but the housekeeper hadn't seen him since he delivered the breakfast dishes to the kitchen.

Since it was time to check on the shipments departing for the United States, Emilia collected her parasol and gloves and made her way to the port. She hoped that maybe she would see Jack somewhere along the way, but he was nowhere on her route.

As soon as the ship sailed, Emilia hurried through the marketplace, stopping at one stall in particular. The woman who ran it eyed Emilia, and before she could give the signal that she was seeking information, a brightly colored red and green parrot flew straight for her, screeching and whistling as he came in for a landing. His claws dug into her shoulder.

"Jean-Claude! This is not a good time!" She shooed him, but he jumped onto her head.

"I protest, Madame. It is an excellent time." He walked toward her left temple and jumped down to her shoulder, which she protected by pulling on the scooped collar of her dress. "Please, I must talk to you in private. I have an urgent matter that must be addressed."

"If it's about that barmaid..."

"Oh no! Although, she was a lovely..."

"Jean-Claude," Emilia growled and whirled away from the stand with such haste, the parrot almost fell from her shoulder.

Jean-Claude squawked. "Please, Madame, be gentle."

She didn't say anything more to him until they reached her home and she took him into the warehouse where they could talk without prying ears or disruption. Most people would think her daft to be talking to a parrot, but Jean-Claude was an intelligent bird. He was one of a kind. He often delivered messages from the President to Jack, and sometimes assisted them with missions. His mind, like Jack's, was often in the gutter, but he could rise above it when necessary. Like now.

"Alright, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"It is Monsieur Stiles, Madame."

"What about him?" She perched the parrot on a stable rail and looked him in the eye. "What do you know?"

"Are you aware of where he is at the moment?"

"No, and I've been looking everywhere for him." Pointing her finger at him, she said, "If you know, you must tell me."

"I have been trying! This morning, he was on the south end of the island, dressed as the Dragoon." Emilia gasped, but before she could say anything, Jean-Claude continued. "He was commanding a platoon of villagers. Now that the Dragoon is back in action, the revolution can begin."

"Oh dear. Why didn't Jack tell me about this before?" She suddenly remembered the crate that Jack carried off her ship several weeks earlier, and her anger rose. "I can't believe it. The United States government used my ship to deliver arms to the villagers in order to take down the oppressive French! How low! Not to mention, how dangerous." While she spoke, Emilia had been pacing, but she stopped in front of Jean-Claude's perch with wide frantic eyes. "We have to stop him! He's sending those people to their deaths, and nothing will come of it! Please, Jean-Claude, tell me where he is now."

"I believe that he is still there," Jean-Claude replied. "I will show you."

"Thank you." Emilia saddled a horse and took off, following Jean-Claude as he flew through the air. She rode along the beach until she saw a group in the distance, all young, virile men, preparing for battle. The Dragoon, however, was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he? He's not here!"

Emilia pulled her mount to a stop, and one of the men approached to hold the horse for her.

"Thank you, but I'm not staying long. I'm looking for the Dragoon."

"He was here, but he left a short while ago. He said that he needed to return to the village for more supplies. We do not have enough ammunition to take on the French!"

Emilia scanned the group of young men. They all had muskets, but some were obviously lacking the means to shoot. "Perhaps this is a good thing. You are not equipped to take on Croque's men."

"If we don't, who will?"

"There is only so much the Dragoon can do! He needs us!"

Emilia was beginning to wish that she and Jack had never taken advantage of the legend to do their work. The whole thing was spiraling out of control, and innocent lives would be wasted if the tide didn't turn.

"Let me find the Dragoon before you all do something foolish. We need a better plan if we're going to defeat the French!" She took the reins and spurred her horse away from the scene. She had no idea where Jack had gone, but perhaps Jean-Claude could find him. "Jean-Claude! Fly ahead and find Jack."

"Oui, Madame." Jack flapped his wings harder and flew into the woods. He followed the path ahead of her, disappeared now and then, but he always returned. "Madame, there is a riderless horse up ahead."

Emilia's eyebrow rose. "Is it Nutcracker?"

"Oui."

A chill ran down Emilia's spine. What happened to you, Jack? Why would you leave Nutcracker alone in the forest? She rode around a bend and saw the black stallion standing beside the road, patiently waiting, munching on some vegetation as if he expected Jack to return at any moment. She dismounted and turned around in a slow circle, peering into the woods, hoping to catch sight of the red cape. Other than the horses and Jean-Claude, she was alone.

"He was here, Madame. I would bet my life on it."

"Of course he was here. He left his horse." She rolled her eyes at Jean-Claude's stating the obvious.

"See here, footsteps. It appears that there was a struggle."

Emilia moved to where Jean-Claude flew circles over the road. Indeed, there was a sign of a struggle with many different boot prints. A dirty white object caught her eye, and she crouched to pull it from the soft earth. Her breath caught. She would know it anywhere, the manly lace from Jack's blouse. It had been torn from the wrist, possibly when he was tied up by Brogard's men. She fought the raw panic that threatened to rise up in her. She was always good about keeping her head, and she needed that now, more than ever.

"Jean-Claude, they have him. They have Jack!" She held up the piece of lace. "I must go back to town and see the Governor."

She threw herself into the saddle and tore off toward the village, and she almost took out a couple villagers on the road as she thundered in and stopped at her stables. She forced herself to take the time to care for her mount and think about how she would approach the Governor. Perhaps she could enlist the aid of Dr. Thomas and convince Croque that Jack was not well. Jack could hate her later for insinuating that he was mentally ill, but if it was the only way to save him, she would do it. She couldn't stand to lose him.

For the first time that she could remember, Emilia was denied entrance to Governor Croque's mansion. "He is in a very important... meeting... with Captain Brogard."

Emilia turned away from the soldier guarding the entrance, her hand absently worrying over the handle of her parasol. Something was afoot, she just knew it. If only she could get access to the Governor's study, she could see what this all-important meeting was about. A brilliant idea struck her, and she hurried to put her plan into place.

* * *

The knock on the door set Croque's heart racing. This was it, the moment when he would finally get to the bottom of things. He'd had his suspicions that Jacque Stiles was up to something, pulling the wool over his and Brogard's eyes, but he had no proof. It was preposterous to even think it, but too many times Jacques seemed to disappear around the time the Dragoon appeared. His actions made him an accessory to the Dragoon's insurrection, if true, and today he would get answers. Croque would miss the little monkey, but he had no choice. If the two men were in league, Jacques and the Dragoon would be executed together.

"Come in," Croque said, and Brogard and two soldiers entered the room.

The man dressed in the red cape and black tri-cornered hat with the black mask was all he was concerned about. Brogard stepped aside and Croque laid eyes on him. Despite being captured, he stood tall and proud, although Croque saw a hint of fear and uncertainty in his brown eyes behind the mask.

"Ah, we finally meet more formally, face to face," Croque said as he stood and moved around the desk. "The Daring Dragoon."

"The pleasure is all yours, I'm sure," the Dragoon replied.

Brogard grabbed him by the cape and threw him into a chair that sat in the center of the room. "I'm warning you, any more insolence and I will…."

"Uh uh, Brogard. The Dragoon is our guest."

"Oui," he grumbled. "Mon Governor, he is all yours. My men and I will stand back and assist if there is a need."

"Thank you, Brogard." Croque paced before the Dragoon going to his right, then his left, and back again. "I just received some excellent news this afternoon. My brother, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte is coming to this island in two days. When he arrives, we will have the most splendid party, culminating with a revealing of you, the Dragoon." Croque stopped and smiled at him. "Promptly followed by an execution, of course."

"Sounds like a fun time. Too bad I won't be there."

"Oh, but you will be, as you are the guest of honor." His smile widened into an excited grin. "I feel like a little boy at Christmas, except now that I am all grown up, I don't have to wait until Christmas to open my gifts." He leaned over him and stared into his eyes. "You have hidden behind this mask for the last time, Sir." Croque turned away for a moment, staring out the window. He thought he heard something, but it must have been his imagination. He turned back to the Dragoon.

"Is this an interrogation or a tea party," the Dragoon asked.

"Neither, but I will get the answers I seek." Croque surged forward, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. He pulled at the mask, but it would not come off. He tugged, and it only seemed to tighten. He grunted in annoyance. "Brogard!"

"Oui, mon Governor." Brogard came forward, pushed the Dragoon to the edge of his seat, and pulled at the ties at the back of the captive's head. As he shoved the Dragoon back into his seat, the mask loosened.

"Thank you, Captain." With one hand, Croque reached out, grasping the man's hat, and with the other he snagged the edge of the mask that rode the man's cheekbone. He pulled the hat off his head and tugged the mask from his face with a flourish. His eyes widened, he gasped, and Croque said, "Monsieur Jacques! No, you… you are not the Dragoon!"

The Dragoon's mouth tipped up into a smile. "I am, Croquie. Believe it."

"Mon Governor, I am so sorry. I thought that perhaps after a week or two, Monsieur Stiles might have been back to his old self and not having these delusions that he is the Dragoon." Brogard sneered. "Perhaps he is only attempting to protect the Dragoon."

"The Dragoon is dead, you imbecile!" Croque thought a moment. "But if he is not, then who is? Who did the people bury," he asked. "I want the body exhumed at once! I want to be sure that the real Dragoon is indeed dead."

"Now, wait a minute!" The Dragoon jumped to his feet. "I won't stand for anyone desecrating a grave." He pointed at Croque, and the menacing look on his face made the Governor step back. "You remember what happened the last time you did that? I exposed you and the people hated you even more. Just think what will happen if you try it again!"

"You remember," Brogard said with a gasp.

"I remember everything," the Dragoon replied.

"But this charade," Croque began, confusion reigning in his features.

"You are not the Dragoon," Brogard said with a sneer. "The Dragoon is suave, a fighter, and someone the people admire. You, Monsieur Stiles, are none of those things."

The Dragoon turned to him, a look of chagrin on his face. This was the moment when he had to decide if he would give himself away. If he lied and said he was just Jack Stiles, American lackey to Emilia Rothschild, he would live to serve the people another day but his integrity would be put into question, if only in his own mind.

"Care to try me?" Swallowing, he replied, "Indeed, I am the Dragoon. I only use the name Jack Stiles to keep my true identity a secret."

"I do not believe it," Brogard exclaimed. "Jack Stiles is not intelligent enough to pull off such an elaborate ruse."

"You don't know Jack," the Dragoon said. "I think you're being awfully unfair to him."

"So you are saying that Jacques Stiles is a cover to allow you to do your devious work." Croque's eyes narrowed. "I befriended you, and this is how you repay me, undermining my authority at every turn? Enough! Brogard, take him to the prison. He will sit and wait there for the official unveiling and… execution." He smiled.

"You're making a big mistake," the Dragoon warned, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"Make sure he is masked first," Croque barked, then turned his back on the man. "No one must know of this until the last possible moment." Croque's embarrassment was complete. He could not let people know that he'd been so thoroughly hoodwinked. How he would explain this to his brother at the execution, he had no idea.

Brogard handed the Dragoon the mask. "Put this on, Monsieur."

For a moment, he considered defying the order, but he could see from Brogard's expression that his reward would be a quick slash to the throat. The Dragoon swallowed, took the mask and donned it, and he picked up his hat from the floor, set it on his head, and stood. Brogard and his men escorted him to the prison.

* * *

Emilia watched the exchange between Croque and Jack from a perch beside the Governor's office window. She heard him talk about the execution, and she almost cried aloud, but she forced herself to keep silent, and when Croque turned his attention to the window, it took all her strength not to fall into the foliage below and make a ruckus. As soon as Brogard escorted Jack to the prison, she scurried away to see if she could get an audience with the Governor. She wasn't sure yet how she would convince him to let Jack go, but she must. His life depended upon it.

Brogard himself escorted Emilia to the Governor's office. Croque sat at his desk smoking a cigar. When he saw Emilia, he slipped his feet off the desk and practically floated across the room to her.

"Madame Emilia, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He kissed her hand and bowed.

With a worried expression, she replied, "Governor, Jack is missing. I was told that he was last seen parading around dressed as the Dragoon, and that he may have been captured."

Croque's brow furrowed. "That cannot be."

"I'm afraid so. Please, I beg of you, if you or any one of your men has see him, bring him home to me. If necessary, I will have Dr. Thomas call for a... a specialist. Someone who can hopefully cure Jack of these delusions."

Croque gave Brogard a meaningful glance. "Emilia, do sit down. I'm afraid what I am about to tell you will shock you." Emilia sat, her eyes full of confusion. Croque patted her hand and held onto it as he said, "After some investigation, we have discovered a tragic truth. The Dragoon is, in fact, alive."

"What? How can that be? The Dragoon is dead, I saw him myself."

"Did you unmask him?"

She stammered on her lie. "Well, no, no one did. He was... taken care of... in traditional fashion. He was buried almost immediately after his death, and the memorial service took place later."

"We discovered that the Dragoon the villagers buried was in fact a stand-in. The real Dragoon lives, and we have him in our dungeon at the moment." Croque grinned. "Until we unmask and humiliate him in public, before his people. Then there will be no more talk about the Dragoon and his plans to undermine the peace and tranquility of our fair island."

"Governor, I beg you, please tell me who the Dragoon is," Emilia asked.

With a look of sympathy for her, he took her hand and spoke. "My dear, you did not know? The Dragoon was masquerading as your attache Jacques Stiles!"

"No!"

"Oui." He let out a heavy, sorrow-laden sigh. "I am so sorry, but we must punish the Dragoon for all of his transgressions, including impersonating an American."

She was overwhelmed, but not for the reason he thought. "Where is he being kept at the moment?"

"There is nothing to fear. He is locked away in the most secure cell in my prison. No one will be able to spring him before his date with destiny." Croque smiled and sighed.

Horrified, Emilia jumped off the settee as Brogard and the Governor laughed like maniacs. She could not allow this! She would not lose Jack, and the people would not lose their Dragoon. Somehow, she would make this work, and in the process, again embarrass Croque and Napoleon. But how? That was the question. At the moment, the only thing she could think about was Jack and how he was faring in the prison.

"I hope that you will at least allow the Dragoon to have a proper final meal," Emilia said, doing her best to hide her disgust. "The man deserves at least that, don't you think? That is, unless the French want to be known for their inhumane treatment of prisoners."

"Ah, but we already are, and we love it." Brogard replied.

"Please, Governor, if you mistreat the Dragoon leading up to his execution, you may wind up with a revolution on your hands. Would you want that?" She raised her eyebrow.

Croque's smile wiped off his face. He knew she had a good point. "Alright. We will allow Monsieur... the Dragoon to have whatever he wishes for a last supper."

"Wonderful! Please, allow me to see him and find out what he would like. Then I will arrange it." She met Croque's eyes. "Please, Governor."

The Governor's regard for Emilia was high enough that he trusted her to be alone with the Dragoon. He wrote her a pass to give to the jailer, and he honored it and led her to a cell at the end of a corridor. The walls were made of stone, and the door and a sliver of a window that was too narrow for anyone to slip through were made of iron. A slim band of light filtered through the window and hit the wall opposite where the Dragoon sat on a pallet.

The jailer unlocked the door, and the prisoner made no move. "Alright, Madame, you have five minutes."

"Make it ten, please?"

Her look of sorrow was his undoing. "Alright. Ten minutes, no more."

"Thank you, kind sir!" She impetuously surged forward and kissed his cheek.

He was smelly and unkempt, but the fact that a beauty dared to kiss a beast did something to him. He grinned. "Go on with you. Fifteen minutes. That's all you have."

"Thank you again." She slipped through the narrow gap he allowed her to enter. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that you don't have a heart of gold."

He frowned and said, "Thank you, Madame. Although, when you see the Dragoon, I don't think you will be feeling that I am quite that charitable."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You'll see. Enjoy your visit." The jailer laughed, the deep sound echoing off the stone walls until he closed the last door that stood between them and freedom.

"Oh dear, Jack. What has happened to you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Emilia turned toward the figure sitting on the pallet, his knees drawn up, the cape draped over his legs, and his black hat hiding his bowed head.

"Jack," she whispered. He didn't move. "Dr-Dragoon?" He still didn't move, and Emilia began to wonder if he was alive or so deep into some sort of psychosis that there was no getting him out. She sat on the side of the pallet and with a slow, careful movement, laid her hand on his knee. His shoulder moved, the action pulling the cape away from his knee. She let the material slip down the side of his leg and hang over the edge of the pallet. "Jack. Please, speak to me." She noted a candle sat on a short stool, and she lit it to try to bring him some cheer and warmth.

He raised his head, and in the candlelight she saw that one side of his face from his cheek to his jaw was swollen and bruised. "What are you doing here, Em?"

"I heard that you were captured. Jack, why did you don the Dragoon costume? You aren't well enough to be doing this yet, and it was too soon after the Dragoon was buried and assumed dead."

"I tried to deny who I was, but I couldn't do it," Jack said.

"You are Jack Stiles, an American. The Dragoon was a native of Pulau Pulau, so the legend says. It's impossible for you to be him, and the sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you'll save it."

"What do you mean?" He gazed at her, puzzled.

"You're not in here for your health. In two days, Napoleon will be here and you will be executed as the Dragoon! You have two days to convince Croque that you are not him, or you will die!"

"Croquie already believes that I'm Jack and the Dragoon. He knows, Em."

Emilia's frustration caused her to growl and pop up to her feet. Otherwise, she might have backhanded him in a vain attempt to snap him out of it. "You... are not... I repeat, not... the Dragoon! Somehow we have to convince the Governor."

Jack dropped his legs off the pallet and reached out for her arm and pulled her down to sit beside him. She resisted, but he used more force to settle her on the thin mattress. His hands curled around her upper arms and pulled her closer as he spoke on a breath. "But Em, he's a part of me."

"Jack, I know you enjoy playing the part, but it is only a part that is going to get you killed. Don't you see that?"

"I do. Em, I haven't been in my right mind the past few weeks. Maybe that beating I took did some good, got me straightened out. I don't know." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I just know that I am Jack, but I am the Dragoon too, at least in spirit. I can't sit by and watch these people continue to get trampled on by the French."

"In two days, you won't be able to see anything, because you'll be dead, for real this time." Her eyes watered and she blinked the tears away. Her voice sounded stressed as she said, "Jack, when you lay at the base of that cliff, your head bleeding, I thought I'd lost you. Now, I can't stand the thought of losing you again."

Jack closed his eyes and bowed his head, hiding his face with one hand. Then he raised his head and looked at her. "I don't know how you're going to convince him that I'm not the Dragoon."

"Alright, Madame, your time is up," the jailer announced with a dour expression.

"I'll be fine, Em. Just keep on going as if nothing is different. And if you talk to Croque, work to convince him that I'm bonkers, that I'm pretending to be the Dragoon. It'll make things easier at the revealing party." He winked at her with the good side of his face and released her. "Maybe he'll change his mind about killing a crazy man."

"I will do as you say," she replied for his ears only.

"Come along, Madame. I've already given you two lovebirds too much time as it is."

"Good bye, Emilia."

"Good bye, Jack." She skirted past the jailer and hurried away before Jack could say anything more, or the jailer could quiz her on what happened. At the entrance to the dungeon, he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.

"What was that all about? You called him 'Jack'."

"You didn't know? He is really Jack Stiles, the American, and he only thinks that he is the Dragoon."

The jailer frowned. "If this is true, who is the real Dragoon? This can't be."

"Don't worry. You will see the proof in two days' time. I assure you."

Emilia turned and walked away, leaving the jailer confused and questioning everything. She hoped that by planting a seed of doubt in the man's head, perhaps he might treat Jack a little better. He should have seen a doctor after the beating he took. Who knew what other injuries Jack suffered besides the facial bruising? He'd been through so much lately, if she allowed herself the luxury, she would have cried for him. Emilia knew deep down that she felt more than friendship for him. She loved Jack. Yet they had a greater purpose than to please each other. Their respective governments needed them to work together.

If they threw love into the equation and all the good and bad lumped in with that emotion, it might undermine the work they still had left to do. If Jack's plan, whatever it was, didn't work, it would be a moot point. Emilia returned to her home, distressed that he left her in the dark, unable to assist. Perhaps she could discover what he had in mind before the Emperor and Croque had their execution.

Wearing the Dragoon's costume constantly reminded Jack that his days were numbered. It was a cruel twist of fate that he finally remembered who he was and how the Dragoon fit into his life just before he was arrested and set to be executed for portraying a legend. Granted, he'd done plenty to warrant his punishment if French law was taken into consideration, but the desire for right trumped those laws. It worked for the Americans in securing their freedom. It was only a matter of time before it worked for the residents of Pulau Pulau. If Jack had been allowed to finish his mission working with the natives, by now a revolution would have been in full swing. The Frenchies wouldn't have known what hit them. But everything changed the day he was forced off that cliff.

Under the cover of darkness, Jack removed his hat, cape, and mask and paced his small cell. He fingered the torn lace at his wrist and mulled over plans to escape when they paraded him out to the courtyard for his beheading. If only he could get word to the freedom fighters….

He heard the sound of scraping, and a soft grunt. It came from the window. Jack turned, and in the moonlight streaming through the slit he saw a hand with something clasped in it. The fingers released the object which fluttered to the floor, and the hand disappeared.

"Hey, wait. Don't go!" Jack overturned a bucket and stepped on it as he grasped the sill and pulled himself up to his toes. He could barely see out the window, just in time to see a dark figure skulking away from the prison wall. He blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, the figure wore a cape and a tri-cornered hat.

Jack let himself down with a sigh. The Dragoon's costume was not really that uncommon for a man of wealth, but who would visit him in the dead of night wearing such clothing? He stepped down from the bucket and found the paper that the mysterious visitor left behind, rescuing it from the disgusting mess that came from the bucket he'd overturned. As if his cell didn't smell bad enough. He cringed.

Jack unfolded the paper and attempted to read it in the moonlight. It wasn't bright enough, so he lit the candle, set it on the table, and held the paper close.

"Do not fear. You have support outside the walls. Wait patiently, and you will be free." It was signed, The Daring Dragoon.

Someone had a sense of humor, and a sick one at that. He set the paper on fire and let it fall to the stone floor, watching small flames lick the fibers and cause it to curl and break into charred pieces with tiny spots glowing orange. Smoke drifted upwards as the sparks died, and along with it, Jack's hope. Whoever wrote the note had no idea what they were talking about. Other than Croque and Brogard, and the soldiers who escorted him into the prison, no one knew he was here. Well, the note writer knew, but who was he or she? As far as he knew, the people were unaware that their hero had been taken, unless the Governor decided to publicize the unmasking and execution.

For being a bunch of idiots, Croque and his henchmen knew how to build a prison. Over the first twelve hours, Jack had prowled the cell looking for a weakness, but there was none. He searched himself for something he could use to pick the lock, but the guards made certain that he had no tools on him. The window was not an option, although he noticed that one of the bars was coming loose from the stone. Perhaps he could free it and use it as a weapon the next time someone came to his cell. After a fruitless search, Emilia's too short visit, and now some jokester bringing him false hope with a note, Jack was undone.

With a deep sigh, he settled on the pallet and lay on his side facing the wall. His weariness was mental more than physical, yet when he fell asleep dreams of Emilia filled his head. She was in his arms, loving him, and he declared his love for her. He imagined all the things he wanted to do but never had the opportunity. Would she ever know how he really felt? Would she care? Or would Emilia's beautiful face screw up in disgust if someone told her that he loved her? None of the answers mattered, because he would never know. His secret would die with him if he couldn't figure out a way to escape his fate.

Jack languished in the prison for another day and no one except the guard came to visit him now and then to make sure that he was still breathing and serve him a disgusting meal, if it could be called that. The lack of activity and interaction played havoc with his mind. One moment, he thought he devised a solution to his problem, and the next, he shot it down as unworkable without help. The fact that Emilia didn't return distressed him. Didn't she care that he was sitting alone in a quiet cell, feeling like he was slowly going mad? Well, it would be quiet except for the constant drip, drip, drip of water running from the sill to the floor. He could see the sun shining, but it must have rained while he was asleep, and the remaining moisture found its way inside in a manner that grated on his nerves.

The guard entered his cell in the late morning bearing rolled up sheets of parchment and a dull pencil. He stayed long enough to hand them to Jack.

"What are these for," Jack asked.

"For your confessions, should you choose to express them," the guard replied with a smug expression. "Not that it will make any difference. You will be executed no matter what."

"Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jack muttered, setting the items on the stand with the candle and retreating to his pallet.

An afternoon shower broke up the monotony for awhile, the hiss of water beating on the palm fronds creating a symphony with the dripping window sill. Jack got off his pallet and paced, his heels clomping in time to the music created by nature. If he'd been in a better mood, he might have added a few dance steps to the mix for sheer amusement, but he was not in a frame of mind for such things. By the time the sun came out to make its journey toward sunset, he wished his captors would just get it over with. He wanted to live, but not like this, waiting for the end to come creeping closer with no real concept of how much time he had left. Then again, maybe it was for the best that he didn't know.

Jack heard the rattle of keys followed by the creak of the door as it opened, and he looked up from the paper to see who entered. He'd spent a couple hours formulating what he wanted to write. It would not be a confession for Croque's eyes, but Emilia's. He would tell her of his feelings, and maybe she would read it after he was gone, so that if she did not reciprocate them, at least he wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of rejection on top of death. When he saw her, he gasped and stuffed the papers under the thin pillow, hoping that she didn't see his actions.

"Hello," Emilia said and waited for the guard to close her in and leave. She bore a tray in her hands, and Jack moved the candle so she could place it on the stand. She set it there and turned to look into his eyes. The light was dim enough for him to safely remove the mask, so she saw him as himself. Her voice was soft as she said, "Jack, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine. As fine as I can be considering the circumstances."

"I wish I could have been here earlier, but the Governor is limiting visits, even for me." She picked a linen napkin off the tray to reveal a plate beneath. "I brought you dinner. Croque is allowing you a last meal." The words stuck in her throat and she swallowed hard. "I didn't ask what you would like when I was here yesterday, but I… I guessed."

Jack tore his eyes away from Emilia's and gazed at the meal. He smiled, the gesture conveying his appreciation and sadness at the same time. "Em, you remembered."

"Roast beef and potatoes." She tried to smile. "With a slice of apple pie for dessert and some cider to wash it all down." Emilia straightened and held her hands clasped in front of her.

"Thank you, Em." Jack reached out and took one of her hands, then the other, and as he held them, his fingers worked over the softness of her skin. Then he felt something, a square piece of paper that dropped into his palm, and he realized that her outfit had long sleeves. She never wore anything like that. His eyes roved up to hers, which glistened in the low light. He whispered, "What is this?"

The door rattled and the jailer stuck his head inside. "Your time is up, Madame."

Emilia pursed her lips, squeezed Jack's hands, and said, "Enjoy your meal. I'll be there tomorrow."

"Thanks," Jack answered, squeezing hers and impulsively kissing the knuckles of her right hand before releasing it. He thought he heard a soft whimper escape, whether it came from her or himself, he couldn't be sure.

Before he could question it, she was gone and the clang of the door echoed in the chamber. Jack wasn't hungry, not at first, but the aroma of the meal beckoned him. He ate it all, savoring each bite because he knew that Emilia herself made it for him. Running an economical household, she only had a housekeeper and a cook, but he knew that Emilia had taken on this task herself. Just from the look in her eyes, he knew it was true.

Jack waited until he finished the meal and the jailer took away the tray before he opened the small note. In her beautiful handwriting, Emilia wrote, "All is not lost. Just trust me."

Of course he would. There was no one else on the island that he trusted more than Emilia. He returned to his missive of love as if he'd never been interrupted, and when he was done he used some of the candle wax to seal it. Her name he scrawled on the outside of the scroll, so whoever found it afterward, if he did not survive the events of the next day, would hopefully deliver it to her. Jack settled under the covers and tried to sleep, but the candle burned out and he still lay awake.

* * *

"Wake up, you," the jailer groused as he poked the lump on the pallet.

Jake groaned, keeping his face toward the wall and his body buried under the covers. "I'm awake."

"The Governor wants you ready in an hour. I would advise you not to defy him."

"Oh, what'll happen? He'll execute me," Jack snapped.

The jailer growled. "Just obey. It'll go easier on ya."

The door clanged shut, and Jack arose. He ran his hands over his sleeves in a vain attempt to remove the wrinkles. Unfortunately, neither the creases nor the slight stench from previous denizens of the cell would come off, and he wished he had access to his personal things. Instead of dwelling on the sorry state of himself and his clothing, he donned the mask, cape, and hat and paced until he tired of it and sat on the pallet to wait. His foot tapped the stone, and if asked, he would have sworn it was from boredom, but deep down Jack was nervous. Scared, even. So far he had no clue how he would get out of this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The muted light inside the prison didn't prepare Jack for the glare of the morning sun. With his wrists chained, he found it difficult to raise his arm to ward off the brightness, so he squinted and resigned himself to seeing the world through limited vision behind his mask. The courtyard was full of people, the majority of them horrified by the sight of their hero being led to the guillotine in chains. Napoleon and Croque sat in ornate chairs on the mansion steps, getting a bird's eye view of the proceedings, matching grins cracking their faces.

Jack looked around and took stock of the expressions of horror and sadness on the peoples' faces, searching for Emilia. He didn't see her. He couldn't imagine her not being there to see him off, because it wasn't as if he were going on a temporary trip. This was permanent. As much as he hated the idea of dying at his age, he wished that it would be over soon. He'd suffered enough. A soft rumble increased in volume, and he realized that it was the crowd booing. He would have taken it personally, but Jack knew it wasn't the people condemning him. They were throwing things far out of reach of the Governor and Emperor Napoleon, but the message was clear. Rotten vegetables and headless effigies of the dignitaries littered the steps, symbols of the peoples' displeasure.

Knowing how the natives loved the Dragoon made Jack feel better, but someone getting up the nerve to stage a surprise raid and springing him would have given a much clearer message. He stumbled on the bottom step of the makeshift platform on which the executioner waited with his tool of death, and he pitched forward and gashed his chin on another. People gasped, and the crowd fell silent. Jack saw Emilia standing near the makeshift reviewing stand. Her eyes telegraphed her agitation, and her lips set in a pouty frown. She swiped her fingers over her chin, and he knew from her gesture that he was bleeding. It didn't matter, since in a few minutes he would hemorrhage from a slightly lower part of his anatomy and he wouldn't be in a position to care.

Emilia nodded to him, and he nodded in return, not sure what she meant by the gesture. Before he had time to ponder it, the guard pushed him up the stairs.

"Come along, Dragoon. You have a destiny to fulfill," the guard said and laughed. He shoved Jack between the shoulder blades hard enough to send him flying forward. Holding up his shackled hands, Jack was able to keep himself from tripping past the guillotine's frame and off the stage. Croque, Napoleon, and the other Frenchmen laughed. The people shrieked and gasped in shock.

When Jack stood on his own two feet on the stage, Napoleon stood on his throne. "Dragoon, you have been charged and convicted of insurrection against the people of France. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Plenty. Like, when was the trial, and why wasn't I invited?" Jack cracked.

"There was no need for a trial. The evidence was overwhelming against you," Napoleon replied, annoyance in his features. "Enough insolence! Let the execution begin!"

"Hey, wait a second, Nappy. Aren't you going to at least let me have a chance to address my people?"

"Your people," Napoleon shrieked. "These are my subjects, every one of them. They didn't make you Emperor of this island."

"They didn't make you Emperor of this island, either," Jack countered with a slight smirk. "I spent my life protecting these people from your ruthless dictatorship, and I pray that when I'm gone, another will rise up in my place to take up the cause."

"Dream on, Dragoon," Napoleon spat. He pointed toward the guard. "Prepare for the execution. But first, we must have the unveiling. I want to see who has been practicing this reign of terror on the people of this fair island all this time."

"You're gonna need a mirror for that," Jack remarked and laughed, and the people joined him, which only infuriated Napoleon more.

"Enough!" Napoleon stomped his foot. "Kneel, you knave, and take that mask off now!"

The guard positioned Jack before the guillotine and forced him to his knees. Jack stretched out his neck, egging on his enemies without a word. He felt his hat slip off his head and saw it drop to the wood planks like a discarded piece of trash. Fingers worked at the knot at the back of his head, loosening the material that served as a barrier between hero and villain. People sucked in their breaths, half in horror and half in curiosity. Underneath the mask, Jack felt a layer of sweat breaking out over his cheeks.

"Ho, ho! I hope I'm not too late for the party!"

Everyone's eyes rose to the mansion walls where a figure stood apart from the troops. He wore a red velvety cape, a black, tri-cornered hat, and a black mask. In his black gloved hand, he held a sword prepared to do battle. He didn't have long to wait.

"Get him!" Napoleon cried, and the soldiers rushed at the Dragoon on the wall.

The man was older, as evidenced by his stiffer movements, but he still had the agility when it counted. He was a master swordsman, better than Jack, and one by one his attackers fell off the wall and landed in the crowd or outside the property. They came at him from both directions and he took them all on with a second sword he retrieved from the top of the wall.

While the fight on the wall distracted the crowd, a wagon came barreling into the courtyard. Several young men jumped out of the wagon bed and aimed guns at the soldiers who attempted to reach the Dragoon on the wall. Several more ran to the guillotine stage.

Jack found himself being picked up and set on his feet, and one of his freedom fighters wrested the keys from the shocked guard. The shackles clunked as they hit the wood planks, and Jack rubbed his store wrists.

"Quickly, Sir, we must go," the man said to Jack.

"Really? And it was such a swell party, too," Jack quipped as he swept up his hat and held it over his head. "Sorry to run before refreshments were even served, Leon, but I've gotta run." Jack turned on his heel and followed the fighters. He found Nutcracker tied up behind the wagon, and he smiled.

"Your mount, Sir."

"Thanks," Jack said as he stuck his foot in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. Grabbing the freed reins, he touched his hat and turned Nutcracker toward the exit. All around him, the people cheered and whistled, happy that their hero had been freed, but puzzled that there were now two Dragoons instead of one.

Jack was just as bewildered. He would have to track down his rescuer and thank him, not to mention find out who he was and what were his origins. Things could get complicated if there was a new Dragoon in town, because Jack wasn't ready to give up his alter-ego just yet.

* * *

After settling Nutcracker into the stables, Jack took the secret passageway to the laboratory where he shucked the soiled Dragoon costume. He slipped the suspenders off his shoulders and was about to remove his cravat when the light tap of feet on the stairs made him pause and poke his head around the dressing curtain.

"Emilia," he whispered.

"Jack," Emilia cried as she hurried to him. "Are you alright?" She met him on the other side of the curtain and grabbed his forearms with her hands.

"I'm fine, Em. Thanks for getting me out of that mess." His smile conveyed his appreciation. "Where'd you get the old Dragoon guy?"

Her eyes were wide when she replied, "He wasn't part of the plan. The villagers were supposed to just storm through the gates and steal you. The appearance of the Dragoon was just… a happy accident." She smiled, her eyes glistening. "Jack, I was so afraid they wouldn't make it in time." Her hand caressed his still sore cheek and jaw. "If I would have lost you…." She couldn't finish the thought. Emilia threw herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, not caring that his clothes were dirty and bloodied.

Blindsided by her move, Jack wrapped her into an embrace and rested his injured cheek on the top of her head. His chin had stopped bleeding, thankfully, or he might have resisted. She felt good, and she smelled even better. If they didn't have the obstacles of employer and employee, and co-workers in espionage, he would have tried to kiss her. Instead, he restrained himself and let her take control of the situation, and every second she wanted to embrace him he savored it in case it might be his last. Not that he was worried about being executed. He was more concerned that she would let her strange sense of decorum rule again and he would never be able to touch her again.

Jack braved a kiss on the top of her head before releasing her. "Jack... will you please get cleaned up and changed and meet me upstairs?"

His eyebrow quirked up and a leer formed on his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

"A celebratory lunch. Don't worry, Jack, I think our surprise Dragoon has thrown him Croque off the scent, and now he has no idea who the Dragoon really is. He just knows that he isn't you, and in that, you are safe to operate as the peoples' hero."

"Until he gets suspicious again, or the old geezer decides to take over," Jack countered. "I like being the Dragoon, and I really don't take kindly to having to share the task."

"Jack, please, just clean up and meet me in the parlor." Emilia let out a sigh and grasped her skirt in her hands before turning away and heading for the stairs.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered. He hated when she was so bossy, but she was his employer, so he had no choice but to obey.

Jack removed his clothing and took a quick shower. He scraped the heavy whiskers from his face and liked looking in the mirror again. The stranger who stared at him before with his unkempt hair and face made Jack feel like he'd lost his memory again. It was back, though, and it included some things from the early days that he spent in Emilia's care. Bits and pieces of her sweetness and soft touches, the way she spoke to him made him feel loved. He knew it deep down that she did, she truly loved him. Hopefully in time she would see the value in telling him outright, rather than hold it in for the rest of their lives. What a waste that would be.

He arrived in the parlor completely dressed in his everyday clothing. Emilia sat on the sofa facing the entrance, a graying man sat with his back to the door. Jack arrived almost silent, but the man sensed his presence. With his teacup held in midair, the old Dragoon turned and smiled at Jack.

"Ah, my dear boy, how are you feeling? Much better after being out of Croque's clutches, I'll bet!" He set down his cup on its saucer and set the china on the coffee table before rising.

"Thank you for your assistance today, Sir," Jack said as he approached and held out a hand to shake the Dragoon's hand. "Like the costume. Where'd you get it?" Jack laughed with discomfort in the sound. "Looks like you raided my closet."

"I did."

Jack frowned and pulled out of the man's grip. "What? How'd you..."

The Old Dragoon smiled and explained. "Before you and Miz Rothschild came to this island, I served the people as the Dragoon. I had a different costume, but not too unlike what you wear."

"I don't understand. You're an American like me," Jack said, his brow furrowed. "How long have you been here?"

"Since after the Revolution. I was on a ship that wrecked not far from the south end of the island. The natives found me, and at the time I wore the cape and hat." The Old Dragoon took his seat again and Jack and Emilia settled into chairs across from him. "They thought that I had lost my mask and that I was the incarnation of their legend. Pirates raided the island constantly, and I spent most of my time fighting them. Then the French came, and I was getting older. I fell ill, and I retired the Dragoon."

"We didn't know you were here," Emilia declared.

"I keep a low profile," the older man replied. "My real name is Silas Merriman. Now that Mr. Stiles is well enough to take up the Dragoon again, I will simply fade into the background like I did before."

"Are you sure you don't want to help," Jack asked. He couldn't believe he was offering, but part of him understood the benefit more than one Dragoon could render the people. It would also keep Croque and Bogard from revisiting ideas that Jack was the Dragoon. Keep them guessing, and maybe drive them a little crazy.

The old man smiled and set down his cup. "I'm very grateful for the offer, Mister Stiles. However, I think that you are more than able to handle the job yourself." He stood and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Jack. You're a terrific Dragoon." He squeezed and released Jack's shoulder. "Keep up the good work, young man!"

While Jack and Emilia watched, the Old Dragoon set his hat on his head, saluted, and jumped out the open window. They cringed, knowing he had a twelve foot fall to the ground. They heard a sound that was half cry and half groan, and Jack and Emilia shot out of their seats and approached the window. The old man sat in a saddle on a dark chestnut stallion, and he set the beast in motion as he nursed his rough landing. Jack could attest to the effects of such actions.

"Wonder if that horse is named Nutcracker, too," he muttered.

"Jack!" Emilia swatted him.

"Hey, I'm just asking. Jeez!"

Emilia grasped his upper arm and pulled him back into the parlor. "You need to stay away from sight for a few days until you've properly healed from your abuse at the hands of Croque's men."

"Oh? What do you suggest I do?" His mouth tipped up into a smile.

"Here," Emilia replied as she slapped a book into his chest. "This came in a new shipment. Enjoy! I need to get back to work. With all of the shenanigans around here lately, my books are out of order."

"I know a few other things that are out of order," Jack muttered, but he kept it to himself. Maybe some day they could straighten things out between them, and then he wouldn't be just Jack, the guy who worked with Emilia and played the Dragoon. Perhaps, in time, she wouldn't mind being Mrs. Jack Stiles. Hopefully he wouldn't have to hand off the Dragoon duties to someone else before that happened. He wasn't planning on waiting until he was an old man to win her hand.


End file.
